


No Contest

by makeit_takeit



Series: All Caps [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, Healing Sex, M/M, Podfic Available, Rare Pairings, Rare Relationships, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Sex As Character Study, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Fantasy, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 16:44:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18608488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeit_takeit/pseuds/makeit_takeit
Summary: Nic’s never given much thought to Tom Wilson before.Sure, he’s had the same general dislike of him that everyone does who isn’t his teammate. Guy’s a meathead with anger issues, thinks he’s hot shit,etcetera.But basically, Nic’s awareness of him had always been restricted, vaguely, to: when you’re on the ice with him, try not to piss him off if you can help it.That was pretty much the extent of it.I mean sure, he’d noticed the guy is good-looking or whatever, but only in, like, the very broadest terms.So it’s not until a few days into training camp that Nic turns just the right way at just the right time to get the full frontal view of a naked Tom Wilson and realizes, suddenly and uncategorically, Willy’s gonna be aproblem.





	No Contest

**Author's Note:**

> Apropos of nothing, here’s a…weird thing I did?
> 
> This started in response to a random encounter in a bar (see notes at the end for additional exposition on said encounter), was abandoned two-thirds of the way through, then remembered just a few days ago and now here it is, suddenly finished.
> 
> It was meant to be short and silly, but then I started to Feel Things about it and, right – obviously I thought about this way too much and turned it into a whole thing.
> 
> Anyway, if anyone wants to go with me on this – hope you enjoy!

 

Nic’s never given much thought to Tom Wilson before.

Sure, he’s had the same general dislike of him that everyone does who isn’t his teammate. Guy’s a meathead with anger issues, thinks he’s hot shit, etcetera.

But basically, Nic’s awareness of him had always been restricted, vaguely, to: when you’re on the ice with him, try not to piss him off if you can help it.

That was pretty much the extent of it.

I mean sure, he’d noticed the guy is good-looking or whatever, but only in, like, the very broadest terms.

So it’s not until a few days into training camp that Nic turns just the right way at just the right time to get the full frontal view of a naked Tom Wilson and realizes, suddenly and uncategorically, Willy’s gonna be a _problem_.

+++

Nic isn’t sure where or how it started, his – thing.

It’s just, like – somewhere along the way, in the midst of the horror-show of an awkward adolescence spent in hockey dressing rooms, trying to avert his eyes when all his 13-14-15 year old brain wanted to do was _look_ , the simultaneous horror-show of learning all his cultural lessons in masculinity from the great state of Alabama, and exposure to the particular anatomical features of a specific Toronto-born Juniors hockey coach who happened to monopolize the majority of Nic’s teenage jerk-off fantasies, it just.

Materialized.

Realizing he was gay was full of heart-pounding terror. He didn’t understand why he was different, why he couldn’t just be like everyone else. Didn’t understand why Coach Huffield, with his giant shoulders and thighs like tree trunks, his hairy chest and tattooed forearms, made Nic’s face burn red when he spoke to him.

Coach Huffield wasn’t old like most of Nic’s previous coaches had been. He was in his 20’s, (not _that_ much older, Nic’s fantasy-brain loved to insist, as if age was the only obstacle to the imaginary relationship Nic had created for them in his mind), had been a promising prospect before an injury ended his playing career. He had blond hair and a stubbly beard, bright blue eyes and row of straight white teeth he could take out to show off a big gap-toothed grin. All the guys on Nic’s team thought he was the coolest.

Nic also thought he was the coolest, but also, secretly, the _hottest_.

Because Coach Huffield was tall and broad and handsome and young and cool, but he wasn’t – _well_.

Nic tried – like, _really_ tried. As if his life _depended on it_ , tried - not to look in the showers or the locker room, had been trying for years, but, like. He just couldn’t miss the fact that Coach Huffield, even compared to the guys on the team who were still just teenagers, wasn’t what you’d call.

Hung.

Quite the opposite, actually.

And something about that fact somehow left Nic feeling like his soul-destroying crush on Coach Huffield was somehow – _safe_. It made him feel less panicky, actually, about the whole idea of what _being gay_ meant. Like maybe all the unthinkable things Nic’s traitorous brain made him _want_ and _fear_ at the same time could actually be – if he could just find a guy like Coach Huffield, with a nice, manageable little cock – thinkable.

Because, like, the dicks he saw in porn and stuff were so aggressively giant. And the thought of having something like that in his mouth or, oh my god, in his - . Yeah, _no_.

Also, wanting a dick that big surely made you, like, way _more gay_ than if you just wanted a small little dick, _right_?

And imagining Coach Huffield’s dick in Nic’s mouth felt. Nice. _Comfortable_. Like he would be able to just relax and enjoy it, without worrying about choking or dislocating his jaw or having to learn how to deepthroat, like how does that even _work_?

Even imagining Coach Huffield’s dick in Nic’s ass felt perfectly reasonable, given the size. Although – Nic had his doubts, to be honest, about the point of anal sex with a dick that small. Like, even if Coach Huffield could get it in, it probably wouldn’t _reach_ , right? Like, to his prostate? And since Nic had done enough reading to know that was kind of the whole point of having a dick up your ass, he figured in the end, probably Coach Huffield would just want Nic to fuck him instead, an idea with which awkward teenage Nic was even _more_ comfortable.

Like, _super_ comfortable.

So, yeah.

Through two seasons of Juniors, during which Coach Huffield, to his credit, proved himself entirely uninterested in screwing teenage boys and actually pretty exclusively interested in curvy brunettes with big tits, if the string of girls who hung around him were anything to go by, Nic just kept jerking off thinking about Coach Huffield and his big smile and his big shoulders and his big hands and his big thighs and his very, very small dick.

Nic didn’t realize until he got a little older, he’d gone and made it into a _thing_.

+++

True to his reputation, it takes Willy about 4 days of sharing a locker room with Nic to start glaring.

Nic feels himself blushing and cuts his eyes away as quick as he can, but fuck – his fucking eyes shouldn’t be _over there_ to begin with.

He’s managed to go this long in the league without any incidents, managed to fly below the radar just enough so that he can have a sex life, at least, even if it’s too risky to let anyone get to know him, to have an actual boyfriend. Still, he’s doing okay, just holding on to this brass ring as long as he can and figuring he’ll worry about love and stuff when they finally kick him out of the NHL for good. It’s a solid plan, and it’s worked great so far. He’s not about to fuck it all up by staring at Tom Wilson’s junk.

Probably.

It’s just.

Through a full decade of pain staking porn searches and careful curation of his collection, as well as a slightly overdeveloped dedication to one particular cammer on one particular paysite, and even a few auspicious hookups, Nic has seen a lot of guys who have some, or even most, of the attributes he, uh. _Appreciates_.

But.

But Willy is something else.

Something terrifying and new and just, holy shit.

Because Willy is giant, and gorgeous, and _real_ , and he’s got that fucking Toronto accent and he’s naked in Nic’s space every day, and he also has a very – almost astonishingly, really – small penis.

Nic’s never seen a guy _that_ big with a dick _that_ small, and it’s just.

It makes him feel things, is all.

And he shouldn’t be looking, _Jesus_ ; because aside from the whole not being a creeper thing and the whole not outing himself thing, there’s the whole - Willy is a massive man with a notorious temper, who’s only recently been handed a 20-game suspension that he, predictably, is not handling terribly well. Considering he’s also well-known to be both eager and efficient about handing out beatdowns, none of this bodes particularly well for Nic.

So he just does the best he can, keeps his eyes on his own locker, does not let his gaze wander below neck level, and he thinks for a few weeks that he’s making it work, until - .

“Are we gonna have a fuckin’ problem, Dowd?”

Nic just came out of the shower, and he’d thought he’d be the only one left after he’d spent so long in the training room, but of course there was Willy, just stripping out of his sweaty workout clothes as Nic walked back into the room.

Since his suspension, Tom’s been working out like crazy; Every time Nic looks up, it seems like Tom’s in the weight room with a scowl on his face. There’s been a lot of talk about whether or not Willy can change his playing style enough to survive in today’s NHL and still be effective, and mostly everyone other than Ovi and Oshie have been steering clear of him, giving him a wide berth and letting those two be the ones to whisper in his ear about, presumably, how everything’s gonna work out fine.

When he’s prepared, Nic can keep his eyes where they belong, he really can. But when he’s not expecting it, well.

Faced with the unexpected spectacle of a sweaty, naked Tom Wilson, Nic’s eyes kind of went for a walk without asking his brain’s permission, and suffice to say, Willy noticed.

Nic’s face heats, he holds his hands up immediately, palms out in the universal gesture for _I come in peace_ , preparing to explain himself.

“What? No! No problems, I didn’t,” is all he manages to get out before Willy cuts him off.

“Nah, go ahead,” he sneers, standing there naked and apparently unabashed while Nic burns with shame, “take a good fucking look, since you’re so interested. Maybe you wanna ask me some dumbass questions, huh? Like, does it work? Can you fuck somebody with that thing? You think I’ve never heard that shit before, asshole?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Nic says, because he’d been so concerned about coming off as, you know, _gay_ , he’d never even considered that Tom would think - .

“No, that’s not,” he starts again, but there’s really no way to finish that sentence. No way to explain that his interest is very much _not_ about derision or mocking and instead very much, uh. _Complimentary_.

“You know, it’s not that uncommon,” is what his brain chooses, somehow. Willy looks a little gut-punched, like he would have preferred an insult.

“What the fuck?” he asks throatily.

“I just mean,” Nic swallows, “that when it comes to genitalia size is extremely variable and typically no indicator whatsoever of ability to function normally. It’s just natural genetic diversity, not anything you should be ashamed of.”

“Oh, is that right?” Tom snorts. “Thanks a lot, professor science. I’m so glad you could set me straight on that, when you’re not too busy swinging your fucking horse cock around. I’ll be sure to alert all the assholes in this league who think it’s cool to chirp me about it, along with all the women who fucking promise it’s not _me_ , it’s _them_.”

And Nic has never thought of himself as someone who swings his cock around. It’s a large-ish dick, true, but that’s never been any particular point of pride for him, certainly not as someone who is a connoisseur of just the opposite in a man.

But also, and more important, is that Nic can’t do anything about the assholes in this league, but he can at least make sure Tom knows that there are – people. People like Nic, but more salient to Tom’s interests, also _female_ people, who are very much fans of what he’s working with.

“You know,” he says conversationally, doing his best to appear like he finds nothing awkward at all about having a naked conversation about their sex organs, “there are a lot of people who are – you know. Into it.”

“ _Into_ it?” Willy raises an eyebrow. “What the fuck does _that_ mean?”

“I mean, people whose preferences are for. Exactly what you’ve got.”

Willy just glares at him, and haughtily wraps a towel around his waist, grabs his shit for the showers.

“I don’t need your fucking pep-talk, Dowd,” he spits. “Just keep your fucking eyes to yourself from now on.”

Nic nods dumbly, and promises himself he’ll redouble his efforts on that front.

+++

He does an okay job – not perfect.

All the jerking off to Willy’s image in his mind probably doesn’t help.

Willy catches him looking a few more times, glares as Nic goes red and cuts his eyes away, but he doesn’t make any more threats, and the room hasn’t seemed to catch onto any tension between them, so Nic figures it’ll work itself out. The novelty will wear off eventually, surely.

_Surely._

The days pass and the season wears on; Willy comes back from suspension and immediately gets into a fight, because of course he does. Nic’s still waiting for that day to come - the day the novelty wears off and he stops having a giant, ridiculous, inappropriate crush on his very straight, very hostile teammate – and then suddenly –

“Hey, Dowder.”

Nic turns to find Tom, scratching at the back of his neck unsurely.

“Wanna grab some lunch?”

Nic tries to keep his eyebrows from climbing into his hairline.

“Uh,” he says dumbly, and Willy rolls his eyes.

“Just come to lunch, dude,” he says, like Nic is wasting his time. So Nic goes.

Over sushi and boba, in the back corner away from the nearest other patrons, Willy pins him to the booth with a look.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“One of?” Nic shakes his head, not following.

Willy sighs.

“The people you were talking about? Who are, y’know – _into it_? You’re one of them, right?”

Oh shit.

Shit shit shit.

Nic knows he’s blushing, he can feel it. He’s also a terrible straight-up liar – is much more adept at misdirection and vagaries than he is at looking someone in the eye and just bald-faced lying.

He thinks about trying it, but he can already feel his resolve melting under Willy’s withering gaze, so he just.

He shrugs, uncertainly.

“That’s a yes?” Willy prompts, sounding urgent, and Nic swallows.

He shrugs again, a bit more of an acknowledgement this time.

“And it’s what, like a fetish thing, right?”

Willy still sounds urgent, like he probably doesn’t have any interest nor time for listening to the nuanced, thoroughly reasoned and delicately layered response that Nic feels that question requires.

So, he tries to be succinct. It’s not his forte.

“That’s – not completely accurate? There’s a degree of fetishism about it, yes, but. Usually a fetish is defined as something that’s – necessary. For a person to, you know.” He stops, shakes his head. He’s done a lot of reading on this subject, but all of it is stacked up in his head right now, a messy jumble of complicated nonsense.

_Succinct_ , Dowd. Right.

“Typically something is only considered a _fetish_ if a person can’t get off unless that thing is present. But something can be fetishistic, which really just means anything outside what’s considered typical, if a person just has a very strong _preference_ for the thing, or a very strong _reaction_ to the thing, but doesn’t _require_ that thing to have a fulfilling sexual experience.”

Willy’s eyes have narrowed, and glazed over a bit.

“So you don’t need it. But you want it?” He asks, and Nic blinks. Like, have to hand it to him, Willy definitely has a way of simplifying things.

“Basically? Yes.” Nic swallows, then adds, “Sorry. For – in the room - for being -.” He sighs, and finishes with _inappropriate_ , when what he really means is _gay_. Then he curses himself for his own internalized homophobia.

Willy just snorts.

“No shit,” he says with a roll of his eyes, “way to be a fucking creeper about it, bro.”

Nic’s face burns some more. Then Willy picks at the straw wrapper that’s crumpled on the table between them.

“So, like, you’d be interested, then,” he says, starting down at his hands as he wraps the paper tube around his thick finger. “In, uh. Y’know.”

He waggles his head back and forth, and Nic thinks that – no. He must _not_ know, because Tom is very definitely straight. Like, gives off the straightest straight-dude vibes Nic has ever felt in his life. So.

“Uh. No?” He says, and he watches Tom’s face go hard, his jaw set like it does on the ice when he’s just starting to get worked up. Nic hurries on.

“I mean – You said, _you know_ , and I just mean, I don’t think I _do_ know? Because you’re – like. Straight. Right?”

Tom’s jaw twitches, but his screwed up eyebrows relax enough that now he just looks more embarrassed than mad.

“I’m straight,” he confirms slowly, still looking at his hands, just wrapping and unwrapping that paper from around his index finger, “but.”

Nic’s heart is suddenly thudding against his ribs, hard and fast.

“But?” He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as squeaky to Tom as it did to his own ears.

“But I’ve never met anyone who. I mean. The dick thing has always been like, a liability to overcome? Which doesn’t actually feel that great, or like, even _work_ , usually? So maybe. Like, it sounds kinda good, the idea of someone actually being.”

He stops and swallows, shrugs.

“Into it?” Nic croaks, and Willy finally raises his eyes long enough to look at him.

“Well, I mean – yeah.” He shrugs again. “And you seem -.”

“Super into it,” Nic confirm weakly. “Like, _so_ , just, embarrassingly into it. Obviously.”

Willy grins then, a sort of knowing, almost predatory smile with all his teeth.

“But,” Nic feels compelled to point out, “I mean, Tom, you know - there are women who - .”

But Willy just waves a hand, shaking his head decisively.

“I’m taking a break,” he says, with no small degree of bitterness, “from dating or whatever. Right now. Like, I just – yeah. Need to _not_. Deal with that, for a while.”

Nic feels his heart clench a little, at the obvious implication of Tom’s statement, but he tries to keep his sympathy off his face. He doesn’t want it to be misread as pity.

He also doesn’t want Willy to punch him.

“But like,” Tom goes on, looking around furtively before he continues in a low whisper, “I mean, it’s like you said, right? Small dick doesn’t suddenly mean, like, it doesn’t _work_. I’m just as horny as the next guy my age, and I need -.”

Nic just nods, he hopes encouragingly. He doesn’t want to feel like he’s coercing Tom, or talking him into something he’s not already sure of. No matter how bad Nic hopes Tom’s saying what it _seems like_ he’s saying, he’s not interested in hooking up with someone who needs to be _talked into it_.

Which is ironic, maybe, considering what Tom said about his dick being a liability that he has to overcome with women.

Maybe Tom _also_ doesn’t want to hook up with someone who needs to be talked into it.

“Listen,” Nic says, and he makes himself meet Tom’s eyes for this. “I’m, like – _definitely_ on board, if you think you might want to. Give it a try. But like, no pressure or anything, right? It’s just – offer’s on the table, if you decide -.”

“It’s not about like, making fun of it or whatever, right? Your whole – _thing_?” Tom cuts him off, eyes narrowed and suspicious again.

“What?” Nic can feel his eyes go wide. “ _No_ ,” he says. “No, no – it’s not about that at all.”

“Because I’ve seen –,” Willy starts, almost accusing, and Nic waves his hand, nods his head urgently.

“I know, I know,” he says. He’s seen it too, of course – the section of the porn world dedicated to humiliating and degrading men with small cocks – and it’s.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he says quickly, because there’s not, “I mean, a lot of guys get off on it, and that’s cool or whatever, if that’s your thing –“

“It’s _not_ ,” Willy spits, and Nic holds up his hands, placating.

“No, I didn’t mean _you_ , I meant.” He shakes his head. “There are guys who get off on that, and that’s fine for them, is all I mean. But my, uh – _interest_ – is not about anything like that. It’s more. Well.”

Worshipful? Reverential? Adoring? He doesn’t have a word that doesn’t make him sound batshit insane.

Willy watches him carefully as he struggles, and suddenly that same predatory smile spreads across his face.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says, as if Nic had actually finished his sentence. “So. Wanna come back to mine?”

Nic nods so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.

+++

“So, like,” Willy says uncertainly. “What is it you actually want to, like. _Do_?”

He’s sitting on the side of his bed, Nic still standing just a few feet in front of them. They took their shoes off at the front door, but otherwise everyone’s fully dressed.

_Everything you’ll let me do_ seems like a poor idea, as responses go, so instead Nic says,

“I’m open. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, I want you to feel - safe. I mean the idea here is to make you feel as good as possible.”

“It is?” Willy says, eyebrow raised skeptically.

“For me?” Nic nods decisively. “Yes, it is.”

Willy’s eyes widen, just a little, and he swallows thickly.

“What about you?” He nods pointedly to Nic’s crotch, where he’s well aware his dick is already making its interest known.

“That’s not,” Nic shakes his head, waving at the tent in his pants like it’s an afterthought. “You don’t need to worry about that, it’ll be. I mean – I’ll take care of it.”

He’s not expecting Willy’s scowl.

“Dude,” he says, like he’s been insulted, “I’m not some fucking asshole. I mean, you know that, right?”

“Um,” Nic says, not quite following, “yes?”

Willy rolls his eyes and snorts.

“I mean,” he says, gesturing again to Nic’s crotch, “I can, like – give you a hand, or whatever.”

“Right,” Nic says, “but. Would that actually – _do_ anything, for you?”

“I mean, a dick in my hand isn’t gonna kill me. Fair’s fair.”

Nic nods, and blows out a breath.

“That’s -. Nice of you? But.” He chews on his lip for minute, thinking of how best to put this. “It’s kinda like you were saying, about having to overcome something that the other person sees as a liability, and how it doesn’t really feel that great? I don’t really want either one of us to have to. Do that. I’d rather we both only do stuff that actually, you know. Works for us.”

“Okay,” Willy looks at him carefully, like he’s considering. “What’s gonna work for you?”

Nic can’t help it, he laughs. Willy’s jaw sets again, his face going hard, and Nic waves his hands in the air.

“Sorry, sorry – it’s just. Dude.” He gestures broadly toward Tom, then toward his own, still-tented jeans. “Like, everything about you works for me, so – whatever you want, I’m. Very in.”

Willy swallows, and still looks – unsure.

Nic takes a step forward.

“Could I maybe,” he gestures vaguely, to the carpet between Willy’s feet.

Willy nods, looking a little more eager now.

“If you want – sure.”

“I want,” Nic assures him, and slides to his knees. “Just stop me if - ,” he says, while he’s reaching for the waistband of Willy’s sweats, but Willy doesn’t stop him, so he tugs down.

“Could you,” he whispers, his fingers hooked under the top of Willy’s boxer briefs, and jerks his head up a little.

“Oh, yeah.”

Willy stands a little, just enough for Nic to pull everything down past his ass, then once he’s sitting again, Nic slowly eases things the rest of the way along Tom’s thighs, down over his knees so his pants and underwear are stretched between his calves, across the tops of Nic’s thighs where he’s kneeling between Tom’s feet.

In front of him, Tom is neatly trimmed, his balls smooth and small and tight. Nic can’t actually tell if he’s hard or not, his dick just a shiny pink button head visible inside a little ring of foreskin. Nic imagines fitting the whole thing, dick and balls and all, into his mouth at once, and shivers a bit. He’s seen it done, in porn, but he’s never gotten to actually _do_ it, in real life.

“Is it,uh,” Tom asks above him, sounding unsure again, and Nic doesn’t know what he was going to ask but it doesn’t matter, because,

“Perfect,” he breathes, sucking in a deep breath, letting the heady smell of Tom’s body fill his senses. “It’s so fucking perfect, Willy.”

“Yeah?” Willy croaks, his voice gone a little reedy, and Nic just nods.

“Can I? Nic asks, bringing his face even closer, feeling boxed in by Tom’s thick thighs around his shoulders, Tom’s pants strapped down across his knees. He fucking loves it, feeling surrounded and tucked in tight, focused on only one objective.

“Uh,” Tom huffs, a little high pitched, a little incredulous, “sure? I mean – go to town, dude. Whatever is - yeah.”

Nic nods, snakes his tongue out to poke at the little head, feel its sponginess and taste the slick saltiness of the precum beading there. He slips his tongue under the foreskin, swirls it around the head and feels the head jerk against his tongue.

It’s clear that Tom’s hard, and Jesus, it really didn’t get any bigger. Nic had been – not _worried_ , okay, that would be totally shitty – but _wondering_ , about how much bigger it might get once Tom was hard. He knows it’s probably caused Tom a lifetime of shame and angst and embarrassment with women, that it really _doesn’t_ seem to get any bigger. But to Nic, it’s just.

Amazing? Beautiful? Fantastic?

Again, these aren’t words he should probably ever use if he’s going to continue to not get punched.

But it’s true. To Nic, it’s so, so true.

“Willy,” he breathes, and he knows he must sound pathetic, like just exactly what he is – some whimpering homo desperate and begging for a cock. He understands it’s maybe problematic to think of himself that way, even as he’s doing it, but he can’t _not_. Can’t not be exactly what he is - a shivering, wanting _mess_ \- not when it’s the most perfect cock he’s ever seen, right in front of him, and. He’s like, allowed to touch it. He’s been _invited_ , and everything.

He tugs up on the bottom of Tom’s hoodie to expose the warm, slightly furry skin under his navel. Then he leans in, and covers Tom’s cock with his mouth, groaning around it. He sucks, pulling the neat little ballsack up over his lip and into his mouth as well, and Tom lets out a matching groan.

Nic keeps going, fumbling with his own belt and jeans in the process, sucking with his lips pressed up under Tom’s balls and over the top of his cock, nose smashed against the hard, flat plane of Tom’s ridiculous fucking abs, against the fine golden brown sprinkling of hair on his lower abdomen and groin.

Tom rocks his hips forward and Nic groans again, gets a hand on his own cock and strokes it in time with the thrusting of Tom’s pelvis against Nic’s face. It goes on that way for a while.

“Jesus,” Tom pants, breaking the silence, “Dowder, I’m.” Then his hand wraps around the back of Nic’s neck, and he pulls down and thrusts up at once, and comes. Nic’s mouth is flooded with it, and he swallows around Tom’s junk, keeping the whole package tucked snugly in his mouth as he does.

He keeps it there, still sucking while he jacks himself, faster, and slicker now not only because he’s leaking all over himself, but because he’s drooling around Tom’s balls. It’s dripping from his bottom lip, straight onto his own cock, _Jesus_.

He vaguely registers Willy start to whimper above him, feels Tom’s hand tug at his hair, so he stops sucking, but he doesn’t move away, doesn’t take his mouth off Tom. He just holds that perfect little cock and those perfect little balls there on his tongue, breathes in the smell of Tom and swallows down the lingering taste of his come, and jerks himself furiously until he comes, long ropes of it spattering against the wooden side rail of Tom’s bed.

He stays there, kneeling between Tom’s feet, Tom’s fingers still raked into his hair, Tom’s junk still in his mouth, and heaves deep breaths through his nose, where it’s still pressed into Tom’s belly.

“Dowder,” Tom breathes again, and his nails scratch lightly at Nic’s scalp. Nic shivers, feels the aftershocks roll through him.

“Jesus, dude,” Tom huffs, and Nic finally opens his eyes, looks up at Tom with his mouth still full. “You weren’t kidding about being into it, huh?”

Nic shrugs, raises his eyebrows, but still doesn’t move.

Willy’s grin gets bigger, and he lets out a disbelieving little laugh.

“You know what’s gonna happen, if you don’t let me go soon, bro.”

Nic wiggles his eyebrows, trying for cheeky. Willy lets out a real laugh then, stomach vibrating against Nic’s face.

“That what you want, for real?” He grins, still looking like he might not quite believe it. “You really want to go another round?”

Nic’s only response is to start up a decisive, determined suction around the contents of his mouth, and Willy lets out a shuddering breath.

“Fuck, okay,” he moans, fingers tightening back into Nic’s hair in a way that makes Nic’s own cock throb, even though it’s unlikely he’s going to be able to get hard again this fast.

“Okay, buddy,” Willy pants, as Nic starts to suck again, “if you really want it, I mean. We can definitely make that happen.”

+++

Before the thing with Willy, Nic would have said he really didn’t have that much free time. He felt middle-of-the-season busy, with practices still happening pretty regularly, the usual travel, PR and media obligations, plus all the extra workouts and therapy he needs just to keep up with these young kids, these days.

That last part is what nobody ever tells you, how 28 feels old in the NHL.

Still, he’d thought he was stretched pretty thin, his schedule was pretty full, before Willy.

It turns out, once he started looking for it, Nic actually had quite a bit of free time in his schedule.

Free time for him to go to Willy’s place, after practice or before games. Free time to spend down on his knees between Willy’s feet, or now, more likely stretched out on his stomach between Willy’s thighs, with his mouth full and his dick hard.

It’s been the same thing over and over, for a long time now – not every day, but most home days, for over a month: it’s Willy coming down Nic’s throat and Nic coming on Willy’s carpet, or now his sheets. It would be perfect, except.

The thing is, when Willy’s cock is in his mouth, Nic doesn’t get to _see_ it, doesn’t get to touch it, or watch as Tom comes, and that’s.

He’d really, really like to do all that.

But he’s afraid to ask, afraid maybe the thing that keeps Tom coming back, repeatedly and increasingly eagerly, is the thing where he puts his cock in Nic’s mouth and keeps it there for – let’s face, as long as he wants, not like Nic’s going to complain. And when they’re in that place, Nic’s lips stretched wide open and pressed up against Tom’s body, mouth full, _Tom_ doesn’t have to see it, and maybe he can pretend he’s fucking Nic’s throat with a big monster cock or – whatever.

Honestly, Nic has no idea what Tom’s thinking.

But they’ve started eating together, sometimes, in between practice and sex. Or napping together in Tom’s bed, after lunch and before games.

Tom acts like it’s no big deal, just _hey Dowder you wanna grab sushi_ after practice, or _dude I’m passing out, if you wanna too_ , when they’re both post-oragsmic, still breathing hard in Tom’s big bed. Nic isn’t sure what to make of it, but when he shows up for a third straight day at Willy’s house and sees the same sheets on the bed that were there yesterday, and the day before, he has to feel like Tom’s getting pretty comfortable with the whole two-dicks scenario.

If you’re not bothered by sleeping repeatedly on sheets stained with someone else’s jizz, you’re probably fine with them touching your dick in a new way.

Or such is Nic’s theory, anyway, when he lets Tom’s balls slide out of his mouth and says,

“Hey, can I jerk you off instead?”

The almost panicked look on Tom’s face makes him immediately rethink his theory. Nic can almost see the force of will it takes for Tom to take that panic, stuff it back inside, and put on an outward face of something more resigned, more nonchalant, instead. It makes Nic’s heart twist a little, because he understands that fear, knows where it comes from.

“Hey,” he starts softly, ready to say it was just an idea, no big deal if Willy’s not into it, but at the same time Willy says,

“ _How_?” Exasperated, like Nic should know better. “You gonna wiggle it between your thumb and one finger, like a fuckin’ –“

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he’s holding out his thumb and forefinger with an inch of air between them, shaking them, mocking.

Nic would like very much to do that, but it’s obvious by Willy’s voice that it wouldn’t be wise to say so. So instead he just shrugs, carefully non-committal, and asks,

“What do you do for yourself?”

Tom snorts.

“If I’m just gonna get the same shit I can do for myself, what do I need you for?” He spits out, face all twisted up.

Nic just raises an eyebrow and waits. He knows Tom a little better by now, knows his knee-jerk response is always to go on the attack, but if you just give him a minute without rising up to his challenge, he usually deflates pretty fast.

Right on cue, Willy sighs and scrubs his hands over his face.

“Look,” he says, “I don’t really, like.”

“Jerk off?” Nic supplies helpfully.

“Right,” Tom bites his lip.

“So like I said – what do you do for yourself?”

“I have a – thing. Like, a toy.”

And, okay, that really brings up more questions than answers for Nic, but he decides not to push.

“Well,” he says, soft, like he’s trying not to startle a frightened animal, “I’d be really into jerking you off, but only if you’d be into it, too. If not, we can just stick with what works. I’m not – I mean, it’s not a complaint, at all. I like what we do, trust me.”

Tom groans, and scrubs at his face again. This time he keeps his hands there, his face turned straight up toward the ceiling.

“Why?” He asks, and it’s muffled by his hand. “I mean – would you want to? I just don’t, like. Get why you’d be into that.”

Nic huffs a laugh against Tom’s big thigh, and dares to reach out, dares to run a tentative hand up the crease of his thigh, then let the pad of his thumb circle lightly over the head of Tom’s cock.

“Maybe you forgot, or something, but. I’m gay, Tom. I like dicks. Sucking them, but also, you know. Touching them, playing with them. Making them come, _watching_ them come. On my face, if possible.”

He throws that last one in just to see if it will get a rise out of Willy. It doesn’t, not really, but Tom does snort a little against the palm that’s covering his face.

“I didn’t forget,” he says. “But like - . I get you like dick, and I get you say you like – whatever. _Small_ dicks. But like. _Why_?”

Nic sighs. A question he’s been asking himself for years, and still can’t really answer, not completely satisfactorily. But –

“Same reason some people like blondes versus brunettes, short people or tall people, big asses or small asses.”

“You obviously don’t like small asses,” Tom pipes up, and Nic laughs against his thigh. His hand has slowly, inconspicuously moved, as they’ve been talking, so that his hand is resting on Tom’s crotch, his cock tucked into the space between Nic’s thumb and his first finger, just resting there.

“I don’t like small men, in general,” Nic confirms. “I like tall guys with big shoulders and big arms and big hands and big thighs and big asses. And if all that comes with a big cock, that’s _okay_ , it’s not a deal breaker or anything, it’s just. It’s not what I’m primarily into, that’s all.”

“Because what you’re primarily into is - ,” Tom says thickly, unsure, like even after all this time he still doesn’t totally believe it.

“Willy,” Nic breathes, and he knows when he does it there’s too much sympathy in it, knows it’s just gonna piss Tom off but he can’t help it. He hates seeing Tom so unsure, hates that this is so hard for him. “I’ve told you before, but I’ll say it as many times as you want. You’ve got the most perfect cock I’ve ever seen. Like – for real, if all the cocks in the world had a lineup and I could only choose one for the rest of my life, I’d choose yours. So, I mean.”

Nic stops there, because it was starting to sound a little. Well. He probably shouldn’t have said the thing about _for the rest of my life_ , is all.

But Tom doesn’t seem to mind, if the way he’s looking at Nic is any indication. He still has his hand over his forehead, but his eyes are uncovered, and they look. Soft. He chews the inside of his lip for a minute, just watching Nic’s face. Then he lies back again, puts his hand back over his eyes.

“Fine,” he says, waving his free hand in Nic’s direction. “If you want it so bad or whatever – just. Okay.”

Nic definitely does want it so bad, or whatever, so he doesn’t ask questions. He just tightens his thumb and forefinger in a circle around Tom’s cock, the rest of his fingers splayed across his lower belly, and makes a little squeeze-tug motion. Tom grunts, which seems promising, so he does it again, then again.

Eventually Tom’s hips start to twitch, his thighs start to tremble. Nic’s cock is hard and leaking under him; his hips start to jerk, too, sliding his erection against the already ruined sheets.

“Are you gonna,” Nic breathes, when Tom groans again.

“Yeah, Dowder, c’mon. Shit.”

Tom’s cock works just like any other cock, striping Nic’s cheek, nose and chin with jizz. As soon as Tom starts whining, Nic lets go of him and rolls to his side, head pillowed on Tom’s thigh as he uses his slippery hand to finish himself off.

When he looks up, face still covered in come, Tom’s staring, open mouthed and glassy eyed.

Nic’s pretty sure that means this one goes in the win column.

+++

Nic knows Willy’s drunk when he texts, but he says yes anyway. They’ve never done this – made a special effort to see each other. It’s always been an extension of team stuff, just tacked on to the end of time they would have been spending together anyway.

Willy’s also never been to his place before, so everything’s new here.

Willy toes off his shoes and takes off his coat and hat and scarf at the door, kneels down in the entry to rub Arlo’s ears for a while, then before Nic knows what’s going on Willy’s got him spun face first against the wall, is pressed all up along his back.

“Uh,” Nic says, breathless, “what?”

“I was thinking about some stuff,” Willy hisses in his ear. “Stuff we could do. I wanna do, like.”

“Yeah,” Nic nods, his cheek against the plaster and not really caring what this so-called stuff might be. If Willy wants it, Nic’s in, end of story.

“Just tell me,” he says, but instead of talking Willy grabs his shoulders and hauls him back off the wall, marches him out of the hallway.

It’s a one bedroom apartment, not exactly tough to figure out, so Willy pushes him through the living room into the bedroom, then into the bathroom, no questions asked.

He gets Nic up against the counter, facing the mirror, gets his sweats down around his thighs. Willy’s just enough bigger, enough taller that standing behind Nic he can see everything over his shoulder, see the way Nic’s cock is already thick and hard, just from Willy’s hands on him, putting Nic just where they want him.

In the mirror, Willy’s eyes are on his cock, and when his hand reaches around, it’s almost not even a surprise.

“Always wondered what it would be like,” Willy says, gripping Nic’s cock, giving an experimental stroke, “having a big fuckin’ cock to swing around.”

His long fingers don’t quite meet around the girth, his wide palm only covers about half of the length. He watches his own hand moving up and down the shaft.

“Tell me what it’s like,” Tom says, and his eyes are on his own hand in the mirror. Nic’s eyes are on the same fucking thing.

“Uh,” Nic says, because that’s not something he’s ever considered before, not something he’s ever thought of trying to explain, and also – once again – not something he’s ever done, or least never _meant_ to do. He doesn’t _swing his cock around_ , like Tom keeps saying.

Tom’s left hand is bracketed around Nic’s hip, holding onto the lip of the sink to pull him up flush against Nic’s back. Nic tips his head back and to the left, leans against Tom’s shoulder so Willy can have an unobstructed view of his big hand, stripping Nic’s cock with confidence now. It’s a practiced, well-worn motion for most men past the age of 14, but for Willy, this stereotypical movement of the arm, the internationally recognized motion for jerking off, isn’t something he uses day to day.

“It’s like this, I guess,” Nic says dumbly, but Tom nods like he gets it. Like he’s feeling it for himself, what it feels like to own a Nic-sized cock, instead of a Tom-sized cock. He bites his lip, gripping too-tight and pulling too hard, but Nic just grits his teeth, tells himself it will make it last longer.

Willy starts to grind his hips up against Nic’s ass, as he jerks. His eyes are still on his own hand, the action of his fist up and down Nic’s shaft. He’s gripping so hard Nic lets out a whimper.

“Here,” Nic reaches for the bottle of body lotion he keeps on the counter, manages to push down on the pump with his thumb and squirt some into his fingers, clumsy and uncoordinated.

“Slides easier,” he pants, and wraps his fingers around Tom’s, sliding in between to spread the lotion around, then he takes his hand away again, lets Tom get back into rhythm.

He gets so lost in it, head lolling back against Tom’s left shoulder, he doesn’t even realize until Tom’s pulled off his jeans and collapsed in Nic’s bed afterward, that the dark spot on the crotch of Tom’s gray boxer briefs means he must have rubbed himself off against Nic’s ass.

+++

The next time they do it, Tom unzips his jeans and slicks some leftover lotion along the crack of Nic’s ass, once he’s finished doing the same for Nic’s dick. He still doesn’t make eye contact, or look anywhere but at his own hand jerking Nic’s cock with ever so slightly more practiced movements, but Nic’s in no position to complain. The tease of Willy’s dick sliding between his ass cheeks while that big, calloused hand works him over is more than enough to keep Nic happy for. Just, however long Tom wants to keep doing it.

Which, as it turns out, seems to be a fairly long time, all things considered.

Almost every day they’re home now, Tom’s over at his place, propping Nic up in front of the mirror and jerking his cock. His grip has become increasingly more confident – proprietary, even – and Nic’s still not sure if that’s what this is, if it’s Willy living out some fantasy where he’s jerking himself off instead of Nic, where he’s _swinging his cock around_. If so, that’s more than okay with Nic, who is 100% on board with Willy thinking of, and treating, Nic’s cock as _his_.

When they’re done in the bathroom they collapse on Nic’s bed. Willy’s always up for as second round, and Nic is almost always right there with him. He’s only a little older, after all, and just as eager. First because Nic’s never had this much sex in-season in his life, and it’s pretty sweet. And second because Willy seems super into Nic being super into him, and Nic is super into being super into him, so it works for them.

“Bring your toy, sometime,” Nic suggests one night as Willy’s dressing to leave, just casual, y’know – not at all like he’s been dying of curiosity since Tom first mentioned it.

“My toy?” Tom stares blankly.

“Yeah, your.” Nic gestures vaguely, clears his throat. “Masturbatory aid? The thing you use when you -.”

He gestures again, but trails off at the visible tightening of Willy’s jaw.

“ _Why_?” Tom narrows his eyes suspiciously. Nic shrugs as nonchalantly as possible.

“You don’t, like – _have_ to. It’s just. I Mean, it would be hot. To help you use it, or just. Watch you, or whatever.”

“ _Watch_ me?” Tom spits, all bowed up suddenly, and Nic’s not sure exactly what the problem is. “Like I’m some fucking freakshow?”

“Willy,” Nic says, too soft, and puts his hand on Tom’s shoulder. He knows his eyes are probably full of the sympathy he feels, because this is still where Tom’s mind goes first, every time, and he also knows that sympathy is unwelcome.

It’s no surprise when Tom shrugs his hand off, sharp and defiant.

“Don’t say my fucking name like that,” he snaps, and Nic nods, and attempts to toughen his face up, or something.

“Look, bud,” he says, trying for matter-of-fact, “I think we’ve established by now, this is about finding shit we both enjoy, right? So I’d be into watching you, but if you aren’t into being watched, that’s whatever, it’s no big deal. Just a suggestion; in no way meant to offend you. Okay?”

Tom rolls his eyes and huffs, like a fucking teenager, crosses his arms over his chest all defensively, but he stays put, doesn’t storm out or anything. Nic takes the opportunity to ogle his arms, because _those fucking arms_ , Jesus.

“I don’t – fuck -,” Tom starts, but cuts himself with a curse. His eyes drop to the floor, and suddenly he looks bashful. “I know I look. I mean – it’s not. _Normal_. The way I jerk off, right? Not like with you, with the – ,” he breaks off to gesture broadly with his hand, the international symbol for jerking off. If you were jerking off an _actual_ horse, judging by the giant, sweeping arc of his arm.

“I keep telling you, _normal_ is just a construct -,” Nic starts, but Willy cuts him off again.

“Jesus, _okay_ , Dowder – _I get it_ , you don’t have to give me the whole pep talk again. But, like – fuck you for trying to humor me, or whatever,” he says, eyes still downcast. “I just hate that fucking shit, like, it sucks when people are assholes and shit, but at least they’re being honest. It’s almost worse if they just, like, _pretend_ , you know? Like this shit is totally normal, and not at all, like. _Pathetic_.”

Now it’s Nic’s turn to snort.

“Dude. You really think, what – I _feel sorry_ for you? Like, me, Nic Dowd? Feel sorry for you, _Tom Wilson_? The same Tom Wilson who plays on the top line? With the 6 year-30 mil deal? Yeah – you can fuck right off with that shit, man. If there’s one person who’s not gonna feel sorry for you, it’s me.”

“Oh, really?” Tom looks up suddenly, eyes flashing. “So you’d trade me, then? My contract for your dick? Somehow I fucking doubt it.”

“Like you’d fucking make that deal?” Nic throws back, “Give up 30 million dollars and fucking, Most Eligible Bachelor, DC Edition? For a bigger dick? Yeah right.”

Suddenly Willy is up in his face, or – well – _over_ his face, actually, just fucking _looming_. He has that look that says he’s ready to fuck shit up, and for the first time ever, Nic _actually_ feels like Willy might hit him.

“In a fucking heartbeat.” He grits out, his face like a stone. “I’d make that deal every day of the week and twice on Sunday, and not have one. Single. _Fucking_. Regret.”

The air feels too thick, like Nic can’t get a breath into his lungs. Tom’s jaw is still clenched, his face still murderous, but his chest is heaving dangerously, and his eyes are suddenly wet with unshed tears.

“Tom,” Nic croaks weakly, “I didn’t -.”

“You don’t know, okay?” Tom says, his voice wobbly. “You have no _fucking_ idea what it’s like.”

He swipes angrily at his eyes, and his face suddenly goes red; Nic realizes with horror, Willy is _blushing_. Through everything, all of the awkwardness that has and does flare up between them, he’s never seen Tom Wilson blush.

Nic reaches up, tentative, and puts a hand on Tom’s arm.

“Okay,” he nods “Okay. Just come over here, okay?” He gestures back to the bed, then turns and sits, pats the spot beside him. “Come sit, and tell me, yeah? Help me understand what it’s like.”

Tom hesitates, hovering halfway between the bed and the door before, to Nic’s complete and utter shock, Tom’s shoulders and head drop all at once, like his strings have been cut. He nods slowly, and walks toward the bed.

He doesn’t bother sitting, just climbs past Nic and pulls the cover up over himself, shoves his face into the pillow. He lets out a shuddering breath that makes Nic’s heart seize, so Nic climbs in next to him, wraps his arms around his shoulders, tugs him close so his back is against Nic’s chest. He plants little kisses along Tom’s shoulder, along his hairline without even thinking, without even worrying about if that’s gonna be too much, too _gay_ \- because it feels like the right thing to do. Tom just sighs and melts back against him, so Nic’s assuming it was okay, this one time.

Nic just keeps rubbing his back, petting his head, running fingers through his thick hair, until finally Tom starts to talk.

About the doctor appointment at age 9 that let him know his father thought there was something wrong, _down there_. About the doctor saying he was just big for his age and it made other things seem small, but that everything would be fine when he hit puberty.

About hitting puberty, and waiting. And waiting. And _waiting_. About hiding it from his father, keeping his shame to himself because the idea of his dad being ashamed of him, ashamed _for_ him was too much to bear.

About how shitty guys could be in the locker room, until Tom learned that if he could be the toughest guy on the ice, he could earn their respect – and their silence - in the room.

About how girls expect certain things from a guy his size, especially one built like him, and how quickly he learned there’s no coming back from that kind of disappointment.

“And then you come along,” he says finally, resigned, “and it’s like, how the fuck did I get here? In bed with a dude, thinking about sucking dick.”

“Uh,” Nic says, because he was with Tom right up until that last bit. “What now?”

“I’m just saying,” Willy sighs, “if I’d just man up and suck your dick already, everything would be so much easier. You know?”

Nic definitely, definitely does not know.

“Dude,” he says, completely flummoxed. “I mean. No? What the fuck?”

“Dowder,” Willy says, and for maybe the first time ever when addressing Nic, his voice is soft. If Nic didn’t know better, he might even call it fond. He peeks back over his shoulder, gives Nic a little grin, like this is some inside joke they both share. He rolls onto his back in Nic’s arms, so they can see each other.

“You’re the first person. _Ever_. Who’s thought I was hot _after_ they saw me naked.”

“Tom. Buddy.” Nic feels at a loss. “That’s – I mean, that can’t be true. I’ve seen the way women go crazy for you. I can’t believe, like, _none_ of them have ever been good with the whole package.”

He can see right away, it’s the wrong thing to say. The shutters slam closed on the wide-open look Tom had worn ever so briefly, and his eyes narrow, his jaw flexes again. Nic feels it like a slap.

“Fuck you, Dowd. You want me to talk to you about shit but then you don’t want to believe me?”

“No – it’s not that I actually _don’t believe you_. Willy, come on, you know that’s not it, right? It’s just – _look_ at you. It’s. I mean, it’s fucking hard to believe, that’s all.”

“Yeah, right, look at me,” Tom spits out, rolling his eyes. “I’m so fucking _hot_ , right? Right up until I take my pants off. Even when I try to like – whatever. _Warn them_ , ahead of time, it’s like they think I’m, I don’t know, being modest or something? Or they laugh like I’m making a joke. It’s like, they just fucking refuse to believe it until they see it, and then. Well.”

His teeth grind and his nostrils flare, and Nic feels the frustration, the humiliation rolling off him. He wishes like hell he could wave a magic wand and just take it away.

“Before DC, I was always moving, you know? Coming up through the ranks and everything? But now I’ve been here a while, and – I’ve hooked up with enough girls in DC, it’s like, that shit is in the water now, man. Back at the first of the season, before we -.”

He pauses and licks his lips, looks at Nic slowly from under his thick lashes. Nic nods his encouragement.

“I was out, and I’d been talking to this girl. She was being pretty clear she was good to go, but I wasn’t really feeling it, so I told her I was gonna head out.”

He stops again, sucks in a deep breath through his gritted teeth.

“She said. _Fuck_.”

He digs his palms into his eye sockets, and leaves them there, hiding behind his hands.

“She said, _whatever, everybody knows you’ve got a baby dick anyway_.”

Nic knew it was coming, or something equally horrible in the same vein, but it still hits him like a gut punch. He feels sick to his stomach.

“Maybe,” he says slowly, watching Tom still covering his eyes. He doesn’t want to minimize Willy’s pain here at all, but still, he’d like to be encouraging. If that’s even possible.

“Maybe you just need to get out of the hook up scene and actually find a nice girl? Like, one you can take your time getting to know and, I dunno, confirm she’s not a totally shallow asshole before you get into the whole sex situation?”

Tom lifts his right hand from his face, just long enough to glare with one exposed eye. Turns out that’s all he needs, really, to convey the full extent of his disdain for Nic’s ideas. He lets out a long, loud sigh, and puts his hand back over his eye.

“Look. I know you’re doing your thing, where you, _whatever_. Try to like, convince me it’s not that bad, I guess? But I’m just telling you, like – someone is always gonna be _settling_ for me, okay? The whole dick situation is always gonna be, just, a thing someone has to overlook, or learn to live with, or whatever. That’s my _best case scenario_ , and that’s just. Like, _fuck_ that, ya know?”

He stops, and clears his throat. His voice comes out a little quieter, a little softer when he says,

“I mean, except with you.”

Nic can feel his heart thud in his chest, can feel his dumb brain reaching out for that little nugget of an idea, that _what if_ , but he slams the door on it, fast. Nothing down that road but heartbreak and humiliation. Right.

So.

“Willy, I totally get that, I do. But like, I mean, you gotta see how it’s the same thing in reverse, for me with you?”

Tom actually moves his hands at that, looks at Nic with a crinkled brow.

“Uh. Not really?”

Nic sighs.

“Okay, so. You don’t wanna be with some woman who just like – _tolerates_ your dick, right? You want someone who actively _wants_ your dick. And fuck, I mean, you _deserve_ that. Totally. Everyone does. Because sexual desire goes two ways; part of attraction is wanting another person, but the other part is that person also wanting _you_. Most people need both to really feel fulfilled.”

Tom nods, makes a face like Nic has just proved his point, like this is the same thing he’s saying. Nic tries again, more bluntly.

“The same way you don’t want someone who just tolerates your dick, bud - I _also_ don’t want someone who just tolerates my dick. See what I’m saying?”

“No - it’s not the same,” Willy insists, pushing himself up to sit against Nic’s headboard.

Nic scrambles to sit up too, cross-legged next to Tom.

“I’m talking about, like, knowing your dick is like, a huge fucking disappointment to a person you want to fuck – or even worse, someone who you care about and want to be with - and there’s nothing you can ever do to change that. What you’re talking about is - your dick maybe was sort of an unknown, and I mean, I had to kind of warm up to it, but. _Definitely_ not a disappointment.”

He seems to realize what he’s saying, and he bites his lip, looks down at his hands. Nic can feel his heart in this throat.

“Tommy,” Nic says, and he’s never called Tom that before that he can remember, but it just comes out. “It’s - . I understand what you’re saying, I do. I get how opening yourself up to dating women puts you in an uncomfortable position where you feel vulnerable, and you have every right to feel that way, and that’s – it sucks. I’m not trying to convince you it doesn’t. But just because it’s not working out right now doesn’t mean you suddenly really like men. Even men who might really like you. You know?”

Nic can feel his face burn, because he basically just admitted he really likes Willy. Like – _likes him_ -likes him, beyond just his perfect fucking face and body and cock. Which is embarrassing, to say the least, but given how much of himself Tom has laid on the line here, seems like the least Nic can do in return, really.

Tom’s eyes are narrowing like Nic might have made him mad again, but it’s too pensive to be pissed. On second thought, he just looks thoughtful, like he’s working something out.

“But like,” he starts with a shrug, “You knew you were into guys, then discovered you were into small dicks, right? Well maybe I discovered someone into small dicks, and then figured out I was into guys. I mean, what the fuck does it matter, as long as I’m into _you_. Right?”

And once again, Nic is struck by Willy’s ability to boil things down to the basics, to make something more simple and straight forward than Nic could ever do in a million years, for all his years of schooling and all the scholarly books and academic journals he spends so much time reading. But also -.

“You – wait. What?”

“What?” Willy says back, completely unhelpfully.

“You’re saying you think you’re, maybe. Not completely straight? Or something?”

Willy shrugs and looks down again, and Nic thinks he might be blushing again, and _oh God_.

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.”

Tom bites his lip like he’s gathering his thoughts some more, and Nic sits very still and just holds his breath.

“I never thought about dudes before, then you come along and you’re all hot for my dick and I think that might be cool for a while, right? Like, someone who’s actually _into it_ would be a nice change of pace? But like, I didn’t know it would be so hot, with you? And then, I mean.”

He stops, blows out a loud breath, like he’s gearing himself up to go on. Nic’s not sure his heart can handle whatever comes next, but he grits his teeth and tries to prepare for the worst. And also the best.

Just, for everything, really.

“If the sex is good and the person is like, nice?” Tom says, his voice tentative. “I mean, cool to hang out with and easy to get along with and like, understands your crazy life and has your same schedule and knows what kind of pressure you’re up against? I mean, that sounds like a pretty good relationship, right? And then suddenly I’m thinking about sucking your dick and how, like, that doesn’t really sound too bad. Or like, I mean. It actually sounds kinda. Hot, I guess?

“Um,” Nic says, because it beats his other options. Which are pretty much limited to passing out, or hyperventilating.

“I’m not sure,” he manages, before he has to stop and take a deep breath. “I mean, okay. Are you saying that - . Or. So.”

Nic stops and forces himself to concentrate, Jesus. And just - spit it out.

“Did you want to, uh,” he offers weakly, with a vague gesture to the general vicinity of his lap.

Tom just rolls his eyes.

“What have I been _telling you_ , Dowder? God.”

Which is how Nic winds up flat on his back with his legs spread around the not-insignificant width of Tom Wilson’s shoulders.

The whole affair is pretty lackluster as blowjobs go, and frankly lacks the degree of excitement Nic feels like he’d need to see in order to actually believe this whole _Tom Wilson wants his dick_ thing, but he can’t be sure if the tentative awkwardness is due to Willy’s inexperience and first-time hesitance, or just due to this being a terrible, awful, really bad idea.

+++

A few more weeks pass, with Tom insisting stubbornly that he _wants_ to, and Nic uneasily _letting_ him, while simultaneously reminding himself that probably he should put a stop to this. Tom’s not gay, and he’s not doing – whatever this is – because it’s what he really wants, but rather because he thinks it’s all he can get. Nic could maybe try to see it as sweet, that Tom wants to _try_ , or whatever, but instead, he just sees himself as kind of pathetic for being so into Tom that he’s letting himself go along with this whole thing, like -.

Like he doesn’t _know better_.

They’re both back from spending their bye weeks separately ( _because of course you spent them separately, you’re not dating, Nic_ , Nic tells himself.), and Tom’s over at Nic’s place like an hour after his plane lands, because he’s used to getting laid on the regular now and going a week without can be tough when you’re not acclimated to it.

Or so Nic assumes.

He’s actually not sure exactly why Tom was in such a rush to come over, but Nic’s had a week on his own to remind himself of all the ways this is a terrible idea and all the reasons he should not be getting so invested in some straight boy who’s just temporarily In His Feelings and Going Through Something, or whatever.

And it’s manageable when it’s Nic with Tom’s dick in his mouth, that feels fine, feels – safe. Like everyone is getting something they like, everyone is clear on where things stand and what the dynamic is, and that’s good, that’s perfectly healthy and right and. Yeah.

But Tom with Nic’s dick in his mouth feels – _not_ that.

“What the fuck is this,” Tom asks finally, looking up from between Nic’s legs and flopping Nic’s half-hard cock back and forth in his hand, with raised eyebrows. Because Nic’s finding it increasingly difficult to keep himself interested as he watches Tom’s head bob mechanically between his legs, his mind full of doubt and shame and embarrassment around whether or not Tom really likes this, or if he’s just convinced himself he does, and whether Nic’s a horrible person for just going along in order to get his dick sucked.

He understands that there are a lot of different versions of consent, but the truth is he’s pretty much 100% sure he’s never actually seen anything that could be construed as enthusiasm from Tom, here. He’d call it something more akin to _determined_ consent, and both emotionally and ethically speaking it’s a lot for Nic to puzzle through while also maintaining an erection.

“If I’m not doing it right, you gotta – ya know, coach me up,” Tom says. “Don’t just let me be down here working my ass off for nothing.”

“Right,” Nic says, and reaches down to remove Tom’s hand from his cock. He swings his leg over Tom’s head where he’s prone between Nic’s legs, and rolls up to a sitting position on the side of the bed, his back to Tom. That Tom thinks of this as _work_ is exactly what he’s afraid of.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asks, his voice already tight like it gets when he’s pissed. Nic puts his head in his hands, and sighs.

“I just. I was thinking this last week, and I guess I’m kind of – not sure. About some things.”

“Like. You mean about _me_?” Tom’s voice is impossibly tighter, now.

“No, no,” Nic is quick to assure him, “it’s not you, it’s -.”

He wants to cringe as soon as the words leave his mouth. What a fucking idiot he is.

“Sure,” Tom says, monotone. The bed shifts, and Tom stands. “Fucking great,” he says, still with that same monotone, “cool. I’ll just.” He picks his hoodie up off the floor and turns like he’s gonna go. He already has his pants on, because he always puts his pants back on unless Nic is doing something directly concerning Tom’s dick.

Nic is up too, stepping between Tom and the door.

“Just listen,” he says, but Tom shakes his head.

“Move, Dowd,” he grits out, and his face is thunderous, eyes flashing. For the second time ever, Nic thinks Tom might actually hit him.

His self-preservation instinct overrides the panicky feeling in his chest, and he steps aside.

“Tommy,” he tries as Tom strides past him, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even look over.

“That’s not what I meant,” he tries calling after him, following him at a safe distance as Tom’s furiously gathering up his shoes and scarf and hat from the bench by the door, “I wasn’t trying to say I don’t _want_ you - .”

The door slams, and Nic’s left alone, heart beating like he just ran stairs or something.

“I don’t think you really want _me_ , is all,” he tells his empty apartment.

+++

Willy won’t talk to him, won’t even look at him for almost a week. 6 days, to be precise, then he beats the hell out of Ian Cole and effectively gets himself tossed out of the game.

It’s not that Cole was some innocent bystander that Tom chose to pick on, and Nic knows it’s just Tom being Tom, doing exactly what his teammates and his fans fucking love him for, which is sticking up for his guys. But it feels loaded, feels like overkill, even for Tom. Cole’s not even pretending to try to swing, just holding on for dear life by the end, while Tom just keeps pummeling his bloody face with upper cut after upper cut. Nic’s got a death grip on his stick while he waits for the stripes to break it up, wondering what the fuck is taking them so long.

Nic tries to catch Tom’s eye in the room after the game, but Tom is still studiously avoiding him. He doesn’t really look pissed anymore, is the thing. It looks more like he’s just – tired, maybe. Or possibly sad. And Nic really doesn’t know what to do with that.

What Nic does know, however, is where Tom lives. And Tom can’t actually stop him from just showing up there, so he does.

He’s prepared for some kind of argument through the door, something where Tom tells him to get the fuck outta here, or maybe even just pretends not to be home while Nic pleads with him from the hallway, but he’s not prepared at all for the way Tom just opens the door, shoulders still slumped and chin lowered, then turns around and retreats into the entry way without a word, leaving Nic to choose his own adventure.

He closes the door behind him, kicks off his shoes and drops his scarf and hat and gloves and coat on the bench in the hall, follows Tom to main room where he’s already sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, hand submerged in a bucket of ice water.

Nic’s not sure what to say, much less what to do, now that he’s here facing Tom’s pointed silence.

So he just breathes deep and moves purely on instinct, which is the only possible explanation he has for how he winds up standing next to Tom, carefully pulling his freezing, dripping hand out of the bucket, examining it up-close as Tom watches him with suspicious eyes.

“You’ve got to be more careful,” he finds himself saying, so much softer than he should, as he looks at the cuts and bruises on Tom’s swollen hand, “I hate when you fight.”

“Huh,” Tom snorts, “every woman I’ve ever met says fighting is super hot. Shows what you know.”

“I don’t like watching you hurt yourself,” Nic says, which is just the truth.

He raises Tom’s hand to his face, kisses slowly over the battered knuckles one at a time, reverent and careful and quite possibly out of his mind. He can hear Tom’s sharp intake of breath, and when he looks up Tom’s eyes are wide, mouth slightly open.

“Dowder,” he whispers. “What are you doing, man?”

“I don’t know,” Nic says, honestly. “I just.” He drops his forehead to Tom’s shoulder, Tom’s big, fucked up, freezing cold hand still cradled carefully in both of Nic’s.

“I’ve been a gay hockey player for a long time, Willy,” he sighs against Tom’s t-shirt. “Over half my life, I’ve been training myself to not look, not to even _think_ about guys in the room. Knowing I can’t afford to get attached to anyone, that I can maybe find someone after hockey’s over, but for now that’s just not in the cards for me. And that’s a choice I’m making, so even though it sucks, I’m mostly okay with it, you know?

Tom doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move, but he doesn’t pull away, so that’s something. Nic’s too afraid to look at his face, so he just keeps his head tucked down against Tom’s shoulder, figures he might as well go on, just get it all out there and be done with it, once and for all.

“The thing is,” he goes on, then has to stop to breathe again before he can go any further.

“The thing is, when you were just a guy I had a crush on even though I didn’t know you at all, except to know you were straight, and that this was just an arrangement of convenience for you that I was just lucky enough to benefit from, that was one thing. I knew what to _do_ with that, you know? But I don’t know what to do with you when you’re, like - .

You’re my _team_ , Tommy. And you are still, for me, like – a dream or something, like too hot to even be real. But also I _know_ you now, and care about you, and we get along and have fun together even outside the sex stuff.

But you’re also, I think, maybe trying to convince yourself you want something with me that you don’t really want, to avoid dealing with all the shit that comes from trying to find the thing you actually _do_ want. So.”

He breathes deep a few more times, breathing in the smell of Tom’s skin, his deodorant through his thin t-shirt. He steels himself, and goes to step back, to lift his head up and face the music.

But instead, when he tries to move he feels Tom’s heavy left hand come down around the back of his neck, anchoring him in place, keeping him right where he is. Tom nuzzles his nose against Nic’s temple, and sighs.

“I don’t know what to do with it either, bro.”

Nic can feel Tom’s shoulder shrug against his face.

“I only know that - . Something happened to me, okay? With you. That never happened before with anyone. Where I felt.”

He pauses, and they breathe together for a few breaths, loud in the silent room, still not looking at each other.

“I felt comfortable, like I could relax,” he says, voice barely audible. “And, I guess. Uh, shit. Like – taken care of, or? Maybe - protected, or something? If that even? Jesus, that sounds so -.”

He stops, and Nic raises his head, and his eyebrow.

“Gay?” he says, knowing, and Tom looks a little sheepish, but he shrugs, unrepentant.

“Kinda, yeah?” He rolls his eyes, snorts at himself. “It sounds kinda gay, yeah. How stupid is that?”

Nic just shrugs right back.

“Stupid to say, maybe, but. I get what you mean. It’s one thing to have gay sex. It’s another thing to have gay feelings.”

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. “Especially when the person you have gay feelings for is like, _no, you just THINK you have gay feelings, but you’re definitely wrong_.”

“That’s not -.” Nic shakes his head. “That’s not what I was saying – not exactly. I was saying, I think you would rather have gay feelings than deal with the alternative, right now, so you’re convincing yourself you have gay feelings when actually you. Y’know.”

He swallows hard as Tom watches him with flinty eyes.

“Don’t?” He tries, with another shrug.

“No, fuck that,” Willy shakes his head, shrugs away just a little, frustrated. “I wanna hang out with you all the time and I miss you when we’re not together, and the way your dick gets hard just from looking at me, or touching me, or my hands on you? It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and it turns me on more than anything I’ve ever done with a woman. And I get that’s probably fucked up or whatever, because I’m sure it has to do with knowing you’re not faking it, right? Like, you’re not just fucking humoring me - you are legit turned on and definitely into me and your giant, hard dick is, like, proving it every day, and I’ve just never. I’ve never felt that before, I guess? Not for sure, anyway, and it just. Does it for me, man. If it’s for the wrong reasons, I can’t really say. And I don’t know what that means, okay? I just know it feels pretty fucking gay, being this fucking thirsty for you and your fucking horse cock. And also that I definitely don’t want to stop, and it seems like maybe you do, and that sucks a lot for me, okay? But I’m sorry I acted like an asshole about it, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I don’t _want_ to stop,” Nic says, fast and definite. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. I _don’t_ want to stop doing it, I just feel like -.”

He’s still holding Tom’s battered hand in his, staring down at it like maybe it will give him the answers he wants, or at least the strength he needs.

“Last time, when you were over, I just. I had been thinking over the bye week about how you’re in a bad place, like, emotionally? And maybe this feels like a good idea to you because of that, like, because you’re not really thinking clearly? And then when you get back to the right frame of mind eventually, you’re gonna look around and wonder what the fuck you’re doing and why -. Why I just _went along with it_ , when. I mean, if I really care about you and want to be a good friend to you, I should be strong enough to, like, keep you from doing things that are bad for you. Even if those same things are good for me. You know?”

It’s quiet for a beat, Tom still as a statue in front of him and Nic’s eyes still on Tom’s hand in his. He should probably let go, now that he’s said all there is to say. He should let Tom get back to icing his hand and living his life and Nic should definitely let go, it’s just. It’s harder than he expected.

“Dowder,” Tom says, quiet and soft and kind of sad or something, and Nic prepares for him to gently tug his hand away, put some space between them. But instead Tom’s other hand slides down his back, spreads out warm and firm and strong in the small of his back, and pulls him closer. Tom shifts on his stool so Nic fits between his legs, right up against him.

“That’s what I’m _talking about_ , dude. You’re trying to protect me, even when I’m telling you, I don’t need you to. I really appreciate it, and it’s - . I mean, it’s kind of a mind fuck when usually I’m the one doing the protecting, right? It’s really, uh.”

He swallows thickly, his hand still held in both of Nic’s, and that’s all that’s left between them, that’s the only thing keeping their bodies from being flush up against each other in a way they’ve never been before, face to face and, well. Dick to dick, really. Nic’s instinct is that this is all way too gay, that Tom’s not going to like this and he should move back, but then there’s Tom’s other hand, holding him there. Pulling him closer.

“It’s really sweet,” Tom says, and looks up at Nic from under his thick, honey colored lashes, almost bashful. “Stupid,” he adds quickly, little grin ticking up at the corner of his mouth, “but still, sweet, and. Y’know, just like I said – it makes me feel some kinda way, man. Like I want you with me all the time. Like I want you _naked_ all the time.”

He carefully tugs, extricating his busted hand from between Nic’s. As soon as he does, he pulls Nic up tighter into the vee of his legs, big arms wrapped tight around Nic’s waist and blue eyes looking up, just slightly, because the stool he’s perched on makes him just a little shorter, for once, than Nic.

“Like I want to kiss you,” he says, voice thick. “If you’ll let me.”

Nic still can’t be sure this is a good idea, but there’s only so much one man can take. He nods dumbly, then Tom grins and leans in, slides one hand up his back to cradle the back of Nic’s head and pull him closer.

“Yeah?” he asks, and Nic nods again.

“Yeah,” he says, breathless, and then Tom’s kissing him, mouth to mouth and chest to chest and dick to dick. Which Tom seems to notice, particularly when Nic’s dick starts to make itself more noticeable in between them.

“See,” Tom growls into his mouth, while his hand grips at Nic’s erection through his suit pants, “I fucking turn you on.”

“I’ve literally been telling you that for the past five months,” Nic pants against Tom’s lips, whimpering as Tom’s hand tightens around him, “like, pretty much daily.”

“Right,” Tom drags his mouth away, pulls back enough to look at Nic’s eyes. “But lots of people have told me that before and turned out to be lying, just pretending to spare my feelings or whatever. You’ve got a cock to vouch for you, to fucking _show_ me you mean it. You can call me insecure or whatever the fuck, but I like that. It’s – reassuring. But also, fucking hot. Okay?”

He gives Nic’s cock another, more emphatic, squeeze, along with one of those patented, dazzling Willy grins that make half the population of Washington DC swoon. Nic would include himself in that group, as it turns out.

“Okay, sure, uh huh,” he agrees, still a little dazed, and lunges at Tom’s mouth again.

+++

Nobody planned on losing in the first round. Double OT, Game 7 at home only makes it hurt worse, somehow.

Tommy had a goal, at least, which is something, but not enough. All of it - everything they had - still hadn’t been enough.

After the cursing and screaming and broken sticks, after the hung heads and the tears, after the brave-face interviews and long, sulky showers, after the slow, painstaking process of forcing themselves to get dressed and leave when none of them really want to, because they know it’s for the last time. After all that, there’s a long, silent drive back to Tom’s place, Nic’s hand on his knee the whole way.

They move around each other with practiced ease now, Nic toeing off his shoes then handing off his suit coat to Tom at the door, going into the kitchen to heat up leftovers while Tom hangs up their jackets. Tom wanders into the kitchen in his sock feet, opening two beers and pulling two forks out of a drawer. They sit side by side at the island with just the under-cabinet lights on, eat their prescribed, bland-but-protein-and-nutrient-packed post-game food, perfunctory and needless at this point.

“Fuck this, we should have ordered a pizza,” Tom says, but it’s a half-assed complaint, at best.

“Tomorrow,” Nic agrees, and sucks down half his beer in one go.

Tom finishes first, as always, but sits and waits quietly for Nic to be done, not even fiddling with his phone or anything, just staring listlessly at the veining in the marble countertop. It makes something warm and fond flare in Nic’s chest, just looking at Tom’s face.

He stands, pulls the fork out of Tom’s hand, leans close and tips Tom’s chin up with his free hand. Tom’s eyes are slow to track, but he understands the intent, tips his face forward and lets Nic put a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He rinses the forks in the sink, drops them into the caddy in the dishwasher. The waxed cardboard food containers and the beer bottles get dumped into the recycling. He makes it to the kitchen door, turns off all the lights but the one over the sink before Tom finally turns and slides off the stool, follows him upstairs.

In the dark of the bedroom, they strip in silence; Nic turns on the light in the walk-in closet, the ambient light through its open door all they need to brush their teeth side by side in their underwear, swishing and spitting in the otherwise quiet room.

The bed remains unmade, as it does every day but Thursday when the cleaning service comes, so they slide into cool, rumpled sheets that smell like them. Nic breathes it in, and feels comforted by it.

“Shitty end to a shitty season,” Tom says in the dark, and Nic knows he’s talking more about his personal battles than anything else. Both on and off the ice, it was a tumultuous one for Tom.

“Yeah.” Nic doesn’t qualify it, just agrees whole-heartedly.

He feels the heat of Tom’s body behind him, Tom’s hand on his arm tugging him back into the fold of Tom’s arms.

“Except for you,” Tom says into his hair. “This was the best thing about this year, Dowder. You and me.”

And Nic doesn’t know what comes next, has no idea what the summer will bring or where he’ll be next year, no idea what it will mean for him or for Tom or for him-and-Tom. They haven’t talked about it, and he’s not sure if or when they will. But he knows Tom’s right, finding this was best thing about this year.

“Most definitely the best thing,” Nic agrees, and turns his head to plant a kiss on the giant bicep that’s wrapped over his shoulder. “No contest.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was in Denver a few months ago because someone I love dearly thought a destination wedding in the mountains in February was a good idea (Aside: I STRONGLY DISSENT. Like, it’s cool you’re willing to get frostbite for those amazing wedding pics of your burgundy ombre train spread out across all that white snow, but we are all Texans WE ARE NOT PREPARED FOR THIS.)
> 
> Anyway. We were out having drinks a few nights before The Big Day, and the TV behind the bar was playing highlights of the Avs game which happened to include the Tom Wilson/Ian Cole fight (the 2/7/19 game).
> 
> At this point I have just enough generalized, non-Stars/Pens hockey knowledge to know who Tom Wilson is, and that he fights a lot, and that’s about it (Note: I had no idea about the context of this specific fight at the time.). So I say to the people I’m with, super casually like me and hockey go way back, _I wonder what’s so bad about Tom Wilson’s life that he’s so angry all the time?_ , and a random lady sitting on the barstool next to where we were standing, who was not a part of our group in any way, just goes: _micropenis._
> 
> I mean…? And also…!
> 
> So: I totally chose Nic Dowd because he’s a recent addition to the Caps and would have come in not knowing about Willy’s (fictional) situation. And also, based solely on only a modicum of basic research, appears coincidentally to be kind of a smarty pants who seems like he would have the requisite information and emotional intelligence to help shepherd a wounded Tom Wilson through the mysterious wonderland of his own feelings without resorting to fisticuffs.
> 
> Also, he’s pretty cute, right?
> 
> [tumblr](https://makeit-takeit.tumblr.com/), if you're into that kind of thing!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] No Contest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19166656) by [AerPods (Aer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aer/pseuds/AerPods)




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